Now buried up to her chest, she froze for a moment, staring at the slight mound of dirt that was all that remained to mark his passage. The ground there did not even stir. No last thrust of a hand, no wild movement underneath.
“Falstad . . .” she murmured.
Renewed force at her ankles tugged her deeper. As the dwarf had done, Vereesa snatched at the earth around her, digging deep valleys with her fingers but doing herself no good. Her shoulders sank in. She lifted her head skyward. Of the gryphon she saw no sign, but another figure, so very familiar, now leaned out from a small crevice that the elf had missed earlier.
Even in the waning light, she could see Kryll’s toothy smile.
“Forgive me, my mistress, but the dark one insists that no one interfere, and so he left me the task of seeing to your deaths! A menial bit of work and one undeserving of a clever mind such as mine, but my master does, after all, have very large teeth and so sharp claws! I certainly couldn’t refuse him, could I?” His grin stretched wider. “I hope you understand. . . .”
“Damn you—”
The ground swallowed her up. Dirt filled the elf’s mouth, then, seemingly, her hungry lungs.
She blacked out.
13
The goblin airship floated among the clouds, now surprisingly silent as it neared its destination.
At the bow of the vessel, Rhonin kept a watchful eye on the two figures guiding him toward his destiny. The goblins darted back and forth, adjusting gauges and muttering among themselves. How such a mad race could have created this wonder had been beyond him. Each moment, the airship seemed destined to destroy itself, yet the goblins ever managed to right matters.
Deathwing had not spoken to Rhonin since telling him to board. Knowing that the dragon would have made him do so whether he desired to or not, the wizard had reluctantly obeyed, climbing up into the airship and trying not to think what would happen if it all came tumbling down.
The goblins were Voyd and Nullyn, and they had built this vessel themselves. They were great inventors, so they said, and had offered their services to the wondrous Deathwing. Of course, they had said the last with just a hint of sarcasm in their tones. Sarcasm and fear.
“Where are you taking me?” he had asked.
This question had caused his two pilots to eye him as if he had lost all sense. “To Grim Batol, of course!” spouted one, who seemed to have twice the teeth of any goblin Rhonin had ever had the misfortune to come across. “To Grim Batol!”
The wizard had known that, of course, but he had wanted the exact location where they intended to drop him. Rhonin did not at all trust the pair not to leave him in the middle of an orc encampment. Unfortunately, before Rhonin could ask, Voyd and his partner had been forced to respond to an emergency, in this case a spout of steam erupting from the main tank. The goblins’ airship utilized both oil and water in order to run, and if some component involving one was not breaking down at a critical moment, then something involving the other was.
It had made for a fairly sleepless night, even for one such as Rhonin.
The clouds through which they flew had grown so thick that it felt as if the mage journeyed through a dense fog. Had he not known at what altitude he sailed, Rhonin might have imagined that this vessel traversed not the sky, but rather the open sea. In truth, both journeys had much in common, including the danger of crashing on the rocks. More than once, Rhonin had watched as mountains had suddenly materialized on either side of the tiny ship, a few coming perilously close. Yet, while he had prepared for the worst, the goblins had kept on with their tinkering—and even occasionally napping—without so much as a glimpse at the near-disasters around them.
Daylight had long come, but the deeply overcast weather kept it nearly as dark as late dusk. Voyd seemed to be using some sort of magnetic compass to guide them along, but the one time Rhonin had studied it, he had noticed that it had a tendency to shift without warning. In the end, the wizard had concluded that the goblins flew by sheer luck more than any sense of direction.
Early on, he had estimated the length of the trip, but for some reason, even though Rhonin felt that they should have reached the fortress by now, his two companions kept assuring him that they still had quite some time left before arrival. Gradually he came to the suspicion that the airship flew about in circles, either due to the faulty compass or some intention on the goblins’ parts.
Although he sought to remain focused on his quest, Rhonin found Vereesa slipping into his thoughts more and more. If she lived, she followed him. He knew her well enough. The knowledge dismayed him as much as it pleased. How could the elf possibly learn about the airship? She might end up wandering Khaz Modan or, even worse, assume rightly and head straight to Grim Batol.
His hand tightened on the rail. “No . . .” he muttered to himself. “No . . . she wouldn’t do that . . . she can’t . . .”
Duncan’s ghost already haunted him, just as those of the men from his previous mission did. Even Molok stood with the dead, the wild dwarf glowering in condemnation. Rhonin could already imagine Vereesa and even Falstad joining their ranks, empty eyes demanding to know why the wizard lived after their sacrifices.
It was a question that Rhonin often asked of himself.
“Human?”
He looked up to see Nullyn, the more squat of the pair, standing just beyond arm’s length from him. “What?”
“Time to prepare to disembark.” The goblin gave him a wide, cheerful smile.
“We’re here?” Rhonin dredged himself up from his dark thoughts and peered into the mist. He saw nothing but more mist, even below. “I don’t see anything.”
Beyond Nullyn, Voyd, also grinning merrily, took the rope ladder and tossed the unattached end over the side. The slapping of the rope against the hull represented the only sound the wizard heard. Clearly the ladder had not touched bottom anywhere.
“This is it. This is the place, honest and truly, master wizard!” Voyd pointed toward the rail. “Look for yourself!”
Rhonin did . . . with care. It would not have struck him as unlikely that the goblins might use their combined strength to toss him over the side despite Deathwing’s desires. “I see nothing.”
Nullyn looked apologetic. “It is the clouds, master wizard! They obscure things to your human eyes! We goblins have much sharper vision. Below us is a very soft, very safe ledge! Climb down the ladder and we’ll gently drop you off, you’ll see!”
The mage hesitated. He wanted nothing more than to be rid of the zeppelin and its crew, but to simply take the goblins’ word about whether any land actually lay close below—
Without warning, Rhonin’s left hand suddenly reached out, catching Nullyn by surprise. The mage’s fingers closed around the goblin’s throat, squeezing hard despite Rhonin’s attempt to pull back.
A voice not his own, but exceedingly familiar to the human, hissed,“I gave the command that no tricksss were to be played, no acts of treachery performed, worm.”
“M-mercy, grand and g-glorious m-master!” choked Nullyn. “Only a game! Only a g—” He managed no more, Rhonin’s grip having tightened more.
Forcing his gaze down as much as he could, the helpless wizard saw the black stone in the medallion giving off a faint glow. Once more Deathwing had used it to seize control of his human “ally.”
“Game?”murmured Rhonin’s lips.“You like games? I have a game for you to play, worm. . . .”
With little effort, the human’s arm shifted, dragging a struggling Nullyn toward the rail.
Voyd let out a squeak and scurried back toward the engine. Rhonin struggled against Deathwing’s control, certain that the black leviathan intended to drop Nullyn to his doom. While the wizard had no love for the goblin, neither did he want the creature’s blood on his hands—even if the dragon presently made use of them.
“Deathwing!” he snapped, belatedly surprised that his lips were his own for the moment. “Deathwing! Don’t do this!”